Predestined
by Starchild524
Summary: A mysteriously talented tavern girl casts doubt on Shari's choices and life path. In the Dawn Waker universe. Finally complete.
1. Chapter One

Author's Notes: This will be a three-part story; chapters two and three are currently in the beta workshop. My intent was again to explore the burden that comes with Shari's heritage and the expectations laid on her, this time thrown into relief by her encounter with a "lady of the night" who responded very differently to the expectations of her own position. 

__

Plagiarism, n.Putting forth as original to oneself the ideas or words of another. [adapted from Dictionary.com, "plagiarize."] *quakes* Because I stole Lark straight out of Emma Donoghue's _Slammerkin_, a brilliant novel of prostitution in eighteenth-century Britain. If you have access to the book via bookstore, library, hook or crook, and you're over thirteen, read it. 

Thanks to Candice Velasco, as usual, without whom I would be floundering. And to everyone else, go read her fic. That's an order. 

**Predestined**

by Starchild

_Fly, silly seabird_

_No dreams can possess you_

_No voices can blame you_

The sun on your wings

My gentle relations

Have names they must call me

For loving the freedom

Of all flying things

My dreams

With the seagulls fly

Out of reach 

Out of cry

"Song to a Seagull" by Joni Mitchell

~~~~~

It had been a sort of mutual dare between my friend Alcynthe and myself to venture inside the Red Lantern Inn and Tavern, a filthy place in all senses of the word. The height - or rather, pit - of the Lower City and its culture, the Red Lantern was certainly not a place frequented by decently raised fourteen-year-old girls. The tavern was the hub of thieves, criminals, prostitutes - all those who deceived or condescended for a living - where a human being entering unawares could easily be tricked or robbed, or worse. It was low-down, immoral, insidious, dangerous. Which was precisely what made the place so intriguing. 

It was more Alcynthe's nature than mine to be drawn to the prohibited-for-good-reason; she among our group of friends was the boldest and most reckless. Alcynthe was the one to play practical jokes on those far above us in rank, when she felt they deserved them. Alcynthe was the one to exchange heated words with the University bullies when they went about their bullying, and even to confront them martially; they were far greater than us physically, it was true, but she had picked up several nasty hexes in her time at the University. Alcynthe was the one to visit the most foreboding tombs at midnight, when so dared by the boys in our classes. And, of course, she was the one to assign equally intrepid dares to others. 

I, while not fully so audacious as my friend, was equally honor-bound to accept a challenge to my fortitude. It was a tacit understanding among our group: where one led, the others must follow. And so, when Alcynthe _suggested_ a visit to the Red Lantern, there was little I could do but acquiesce, despite my instinctual deterrence from the tavern. Not only was such an institution completely alien to all I'd known, being raised among the intellectually and morally solid, but it exuded such an aura of filth and baseness that decent folk, walking down the street at a distance, would hear the drunken shouts and clamor and reverse their steps. 

But, after all, Alcynthe and I could take care of ourselves. Especially me, given my background - after all, as Alcynthe said pointedly, combat magic was my passion and strength… _wasn't _it? 

But it was true. At fourteen, I was known throughout the field of magecraft for my accomplishments in combat magic. I could flame, shield, and blast estimably; in the case of Alcynthe's proposal, I could cloak us visually and even spin a repellant spell to deflect unwanted company. I had also mastered shape-shifting, if not so consummately as my mother; I took more than a heartbeat's time to make the change, and some forms came with much more difficulty than others; but I could, if necessary, assume a formidable predator's shape in defense. Furthermore, if Alcynthe and I were in grave danger, my parents would know. We were connected magically, through foci and other magical workings as well as the People, who could pass word from myself to my mother. The fact was, my family, under everyday circumstances, probably numbered among the safest people in the kingdom. 

And so it was that Alcynthe and I found ourselves deviating from our more frequented shops and study centers in the Middle City and descending to the Lower City, along a series of narrow, poorly-kept and roughly cobbled streets that wound through the depths of the urban slums. It was a blustery day in late October, and an insistent gale grabbed at our cloaks and hurried us on through the tortuous roads. Alcynthe exhibited that sparkle in her bright brown eyes, that flush beneath her freckles, that accompanied all her characteristically daring exploits. I felt, and probably looked, less enthusiastic. I couldn't stop entertaining such cogitations as _What are we _doing? 

At one point on the journey, Alcynthe looked at me quizzically. "What's wrong, Shari?"

"Hmm?" I tried to look nonchalant. 

She grinned lopsidedly. "You look like you did that time we dissected frogs in Master Kendar's class." 

I winced at the memory. "It's just…." I shook my head. "This is not a wise idea, Cynthe."

She sighed patiently. "Relax, Shari. We'll be in and out in twenty minutes, and much the wiser as to worldly scenery for it. We're _exploring."_

"The Red Lantern is one of those places better left _un_explored, in our case." 

"That's what you've always heard, I know. But we're more than old enough to make our own choices these days. We've got finer judgment than adults seem to admit."

I raised an eyebrow. "Naturally, Mistress Alcynthe - but some of _use_ it more than others." 

She rolled her eyes. "Shari, look at it logically. There can't be much in that place that can hurt you if you don't want it. I wouldn't think _you'd _be so timid, not with your talents." 

"Cynthe…." I tensed as the din of typical tavern noises pushed through the long sighs of the wind. "Look, this isn't just about how much danger we're actually in. It's about… the places where we spend time, the kind of people we're around…." I trailed off, groping for words. 

"In other words -" the wind whipped Alcynthe's shoulder-length brown hair around her face, but her voice was level and serious - "it's about virtue."

After a moment, I nodded. 

She patted my arm maternally. "Don't fret. Like I said, it's just for a bit, just this one day. Besides, Shari… you just might be surprised about what tavern folks have to say." The roughly hewn logs of the tavern's façade loomed in front of us now; the sign of the Red Lantern swung creaking in the wind. The clamor inside was louder than ever; bawdy songs pushed through the general roar of conversation and shouts, punctuated by occasional thumping of furniture. Firelight flickered in the windows. Alcynthe turned to me, the spark of mischief reignited in her dancing brown eyes. "Well? What do you say?"

I gave her a hard look. "Well, I certainly don't mean to talk to anyone I don't know, and I expect you not to either -" she nodded quickly - "but very well." I pulled the heavy wooden door open and held it for her; the din from inside rose to a roar. "After you, fair lady." I grinned, covering my nervousness. 

She nodded formally to me and swept inside; I followed. We stood together just inside the door, surveying our surroundings as if we'd been swept off to another world. It was dimly lit in the tavern, such a contrast with the afternoon light outside that we blinked to adjust our eyes to the gloom. All light came from large fireplaces, or a few torches set into the walls. The noise of the tavern-goers was deafening, spiking occasionally as fresh shouts rose from knots of gamblers. Most of the Red Lantern's population were roughly dressed, scruffy, and dirty, and crowded around long wooden tables. Nearly everyone seemed to have a mug of ale in hand or nearby; the tables were covered with them. Serving maids wove through the crowd bearing large trays of drinks; other women in the room were dressed in such manners as to outrage the kind of people Alcynthe and I typically associated with. A smoky haze hung over the room, further hampering visibility; the smells of ale and bodies were overwhelming. 

I looked sideways at my friend, insides churning. "Well?"

She was grinning widely. "Have you ever _seen _a merrier crowd?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, come _on."_ She grabbed my hand and towed me through the room as if she'd spent her life in places like these - which I was fairly certain was not the case. Thus far no one had noticed us in the crowd, for which I was grateful. I hoped fervently we could pass the whole time there without speaking to _any_ of these people. 

"Cynthe? Where are we going?"

"To sit _down, _Shari." She sighed exasperatedly and pulled me out into an open space that surrounded the end of one table nearest the wall. Miraculously, several yards of the wall-facing end of the table were completely unoccupied. At the other end sat a handful of older men, one silently smoking a pipe, one slumped over in a drunken stupor, two others conversing in low tones. Their presence made me feel decidedly uncomfortable, though they clearly made better company than other men in the room. 

We sat side by side. I couldn't help huddling close to Alcynthe, a figure of comfort and familiarity in an alien place. My friend, however, was taking the situation very differently. Her eyes were shining as she took in the tavern, and her posture was clearly relaxed. She was obviously enjoying herself, and it was plain to see that she appreciated the "excitement" this place offered. I, on the other hand, was still silently cursing myself and counting the minutes. 

We ordered ciders from a maid who gave us a pungent look of mingled reprimand and distaste, and flushed at Alcynthe's retaliatory comment about the streaks of soot on her face. Unhindered by such interferences, we now sat over our ciders eagerly observing - and exchanging thoughts on - the tavern and its occupants. After ten minutes or so, when no catastrophe had befallen us, I couldn't help but be infected by Alcynthe's enthusiasm. It _was_ fun, being travelers in an alien land, free from the expectations we lived with, experiencing something _new._ The novelty was the exhilaration - at least, for a one-time excursion. 

We were giggling over the drunken confusion of a knot of gamblers when a pure, clear voice rose into the air, sweet and smooth. We started, and turned to scan the room for its source. Around the tavern, other heads turned as well. 

The singer was a young woman of perhaps eighteen, leaning leisurely against one of the thick wooden posts that supported the tavern's structure, slender arms crossed over her chest. From her dress and pose, her profession was clear. Her gown, laced impossibly tight and with a tapered bodice, screamed with slashes of red and black satin. A low, wide neckline showed ample cleavage as well as her creamy shoulders. Her skirts stopped shockingly at the knee, and the topmost layer comprised only a collection of red and black satin ribbons streaming from the waist. Her eyes were lined with ink, her lips painted cherry-red. A number of small braids wove through her mahogany tresses, as well as red and black ribbons. 

What made her so incongruous with her surroundings, however, was a silky yet full-bodied voice, like the trained singers at Court. Despite lyrics that made my face grow hot, her skill was _not _typical of a place like the Red Lantern - simply because musicians of such caliber found better lives. 

But it was another feature that further captivated me. Threads of coppery light wove beneath her skin - wild magic. I blinked and shook my head to clear it. What was a _wildmage _doing in a tavern like this? But the copper light was unmistakable, veining her face, arms and improperly exposed calves. 

Then her eyes fell directly on me. It was as though a cord were strung between us; I _knew _she was looking at me along, not Alcynthe or anyone around us. More, I had the feeling she recognized me - that she knew exactly who I was and why I had come, like a master Seer who could read one's story at a glance. Her wine-red lips curved into a smile, and she winked. Not the sly invitation she would probably issue to potential clients, but an expression of friendship, between two people who shared a bond or a secret. 

"I think the court bards could learn a thing or two from her." Alcynthe sounded awestruck. "What in the name of the Goddess is she _doing_ here?" She was still staring at the tavern girl. 

So was I. _"Cynthe," _I breathed. "Did you _see_ that?" I forgot momentarily that Alcynthe didn't share my magical vision. 

"See what, Shari?"

I tore my eyes away from the singer to look at Alcynthe. "She's a wildmage." 

_"Her?"_ Alcynthe's tone dripped incredulity. We both returned to staring at the girl in question, who was now surrounded by a knot of rough-looking men. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." After a few moments of considering each bidder, the girl favored one of them with her sly smile, hooked her arm through his, and led him towards the stairs. 

I leaned back, releasing a heavy breath as I considered what we'd just seen. 

"A wildmage _and _a singer, and she's selling herself in the Red Lantern?" Alcynthe demanded. _"Why?"_

"Exactly what I'm wondering." I felt decidedly odd at the thought of a tavern girl with all potential to work with the People instead, or in music. "Maybe we could talk to her…."

Alcynthe grinned faintly. "And before, you were so sure you'd never speak to anyone in here. A little more open-minded, are we?"

I frowned. "I didn't expect to see someone like _her."_ I stared in the direction the girl had taken, and sighed, considerably more solemn than when I'd entered the tavern. 

With ten more minutes of waiting, however, the wildmage had still not reappeared. At that point voices rose to a bellow from one of the tables, and several big fellows rose from their seats, assuming belligerent stances. 

"Shari," Alcynthe said quietly. "We should get out of here."

It occurred to me that we had switched positions on the excursion. I sighed, but conceded my friend's reasoning. Past boldness notwithstanding, we shouldn't be staying where a fight was heating up. We made our way through the crowd and stepped out into the grey, chill afternoon once more. 

Making our way back through the shabby streets, I resolved to find the tavern girl again. Ill-bred though she might be, I had to at least know her story. 

~~~~~


	2. Chapter Two

Author's Notes: This isn't completely betaed, so expect a few changes in the future - but the story should remain largely the same. Please review! 

And a note on my vision of Lark: visually, think Christina Ricci (_Prozac Nation_), except with features a bit sharper, and a Jodie Foster accent. Roughly. 

Chapter Two

Trips to the city were frequent for my peers and me. The city offered infinite opportunities for learning, shopping, meeting people, recreation. It was nothing unusual for me to go there, such that my parents didn't always ask me what activities I had planned. They knew that I associated with worthy people, and that I could take care of myself. The week before, "I'm going to the city with Alcynthe" had been enough, though I did feel guilty about our Red Lantern excursion. 

But now I felt obligated to learn the strange wildmage's story, and so at the next opportunity I went down to the Lower City again, this time alone. Alcynthe had been reluctant to come, and at any rate I felt an urge to confront the tavern girl alone: it seemed appropriate that her story should be between just the two of us. But that still didn't dispel my trepidation at the thought of talking face-to-face with a living, breathing prostitute. Such a woman was so… alien, so repulsive. How could I look her in the eye and… well, talk to her like I would to a normal person? 

And yet curiosity would not be slaked. Walking through the Lower City's twisting roads, I called to the People in range, showing them an image of the girl I was looking for. They would know her apart from other humans, I told them; she felt a bit like one of the People. 

A pair of sparrows zipped across the street to land on my shoulders. We've seen a woman like that, they told me. All the wing-folk in the city know her; she's our friend. We'll take you to her. 

Thank you, wing-brothers. I smiled, turning to stroke the one on my right shoulder with a finger. 

They jumped back into the air and fluttered a few buildings down to perch on a hitching post, and waited for me to catch up. It was a mild day for the time of year; the chill nipped at my fingers, but the air was still and gentle and the sun shone. I hoped my quarry was outside, preferably alone, instead of in the Red Lantern or a similar institution. I was hesitant to go into such a tavern alone. 

The sparrows led me to the mouth of a space between two large buildings. Here she is, said the one who'd landed on my left shoulder. They flew inside. 

I peered around the edge. The niche ran about ten yards deep; inside was the tavern wildmage I was looking for, in a dark blue cloak. She was leaning against the wall, serving as a perch for various songbirds. They stood all along her outstretched arms and shoulders as well as at her feet, several eating what looked like bread crumbs out of her palm; she laughed merrily as some of them pecked at her thick, dark hair. 

At my entrance, about five of them left her to fly over to me, landing largely on my shoulders (and one on my head). I hoped fervently they would stay tidy; not that I could fault them, but I'd rather save my clothes. My mother had never seemed to mind that, for some reason.

The tavern girl turned at this movement, and her eyes fell on me. She looked at me curiously, waiting for an explanation. "Hello," she said expectantly. 

"Excuse me," I said shyly, walking towards her. I removed the sparrow on my head to let her perch instead on my finger. And then suddenly I was face to face with the mysterious girl I had been wondering about for the past week. Today, even with no makeup, it was clear she was beautiful. Her face, heart-shaped and set between broad cheekbones, was clear and finely shaped - as though by an artist who took care to make the combined effect in perfect balance. Her skin was milky, her eyes a deep forest green I'd never witnessed in a human face, flecked with gold, and framed by a dark spray of lashes. Her hair, unadorned today, piled over her shoulders in graceful waves. Even when not parading herself as a harlot, that same dirty mien hung about her. It was that sly self-confidence in her eyes, the look of one who smugly harbored a secret; it was the leisurely way she stood resting her weight in one hip. And here I was, and it was upon me to explain myself to her. 

As soon as I started talking, I realized I had no idea what to say. 

"I'm a wildmage, you see. A mage, that is. Actually, both. - Do you know what that is? A wildmage, I mean. Do you know what -"

I stopped. She was grinning good-naturedly, clearly amused at my awkwardness. She raised delicate eyebrows. "Beg pardon?"

"Er -" I looked at the ground for a moment, taking a breath to regain my center, then smiled politely. "My name's Shari." _Let's try this again._

She turned her gaze away from me briefly to gaze across the street. "I remember you." 

I wondered once again - intensely - if she was a Seer in addition to all her other talents. 

"Do I know you?" I asked uncertainly. 

She laughed, not derisively, but as at a good joke. "Now I don't find _that _likely, do you?" 

I supposed not. 

She turned to look at me again. "That day at the Lantern. I saw you." 

"Right." So she _did _remember. But why had she noticed me in the first place? Few wildmages could identify others, and she was no more powerful than those I knew who could not. 

Shifting away from the wall, she brushed the crumbs from her palms and extended her right hand. "'Round here they call me Lark." She gave me a lopsided grin. After a moment's hesitation I shook her hand, heart thudding; her palm was soft and smooth. "'Cause of my friends, and for my voice." She spoke in quick, whippy syllables. 

I made myself smile again, in courteous appreciation of the cited talent. "Well named. You see, Lark, I'm studying magecraft at the University." I indicated the direction of the palace. "I study with my Gift in school, but I have another kind of magic - wild magic. Do you know what that is?"

"'Course I do," she replied, and smiled at the bright-eyed junco on her shoulder. "Magic with animals. You can speak to them, and understand what they say."

Her knowledge was puzzling. Fifteen or twenty years ago, I knew, few Masters could have claimed as much. "More than that, actually, with me," I continued. "I can put my will on them, if I want - but I don't often - and I can look in their minds, and also heal them. I also have magic with immortal creatures - I can tell when they're around, and talk to them too." 

Lark whistled. "Well then -" her eyes were still playful, but shrewd - "what might such a well-bred, fine young lady want with the likes of me?"

The demand of her question set me slightly more off balance, but I pressed on. "Another thing is I can see others with wild magic. You have it." 

She looked at me sharply. "Do I, now?"

It was my turn to smile, now confident. This was my field of expterise. "Yes. Believe me, you do."

She shrugged. "Well, I always had a way with the winged fellows, I know, and they took a liking to me. Didn't know it was magic, though. But - I s'pose knowing it doesn't change much, does it?" She lifted a hand; a chickadee fluttered from her elbow to perch on her delicate fingers. 

"I suppose not," I admitted. She didn't have enough magic to hone with training. "But - you've always been connected with birds, then?"

"Long as I recall." She smiled affectionately at the birds around - and on - her. 

"Well then -" I had no idea how to phrase the question gracefully - "why is it you… work at the tavern?" My face was hot. "You could work with birds, in falconry, or breeding, or training, or studying. Or - why not work as an actual singer? Like a bard? You're as good as the ones I've heard at Court." 

Lark grinned crookedly. "Oh, I _am _a bard. I just sing for a _reason!" _She laughed uproariously, heightening my discomfort. Part of me asked once again why I had approached a tavern girl; I squelched it. 

She tossed her dark, rich tresses over her shoulder, laughter settling. "I'll tell you why," she said with a mysterious smile. "It'll take some telling, there." 

She turned and strode toward the end of the alley, fallen leaves and bits of rubbish scattering at her footsteps. Near the splintery wooden door that led to one of the buildings, several old crates lay in a pile. Lark overturned one for use as a stool and seated herself; I followed suit. We must have seemed strange to an observer, sitting together - the harlot and the well-bred mage student. Such people simply did not go together visually. I couldn't peel the image of her initial visage from my mind's eye - the loud, revealing dress, so forbidden, so intruding on my familiar, comfortable world. Today I had dressed as usual - cream-colored blouse, leather bodice that laced up to the breastbone, forest green skirt - with my long black hair modestly braided. All familiar, but I felt more than a little self-conscious, given my company. 

"I wasn't born down here," Lark was telling me. She was gazing straight ahead of her again, though there was nothing to rest the eye on save the alley's run-down walls on either side of us and across the street, the grimy façade of a third-rate smithy. She both looked and sounded very far away, as though the words came to her from afar. "My family were - are - scholars, and not far from the Court folks. Better off that a good deal of nobles, even. They've been so for ages. Ten years at the University, then live in books and scrolls and scholar talk the rest of their lives. When I was growing up, my father scarcely left his study but when he had to.

"Or at least, the _menfolk _are scholars. Not that it'd please me, myself, but at least they use their heads. The women sit about all day and embroider. Can't go out, for fear of ruining their skin or dirtying their hands." Lark's delicate features contracted with scorn. "And they keep to themselves, for worldly talk isn't for _ladies' _pretty heads. Too, they aren't to keep other fellows' company, lest they be - drawn astray." She snorted. "That's what I'd've been fated for. 

"Like I said, I was always close to the wing-folk. And since there wasn't much worthwhile about home, I always passed the time out on the lands, with no one to get after me over my clothes or manners, just my friends and me." She smiled distantly. "And that was just fine when I was a wee girl - not that my parents liked it - they always scolded me for running about so. But I was a mere child. They had more important matters to tend to. 

"But as I turned woman, that changed." The smile was gone; her eyes tightened. "Now they were forever telling me to sit still, stand straight, walk slowly, keep my eyes down. After all -" she mimicked a lady's delicate voice - " 'who'd ask the hand of such a wild, messy girl?' That's what it was all about - they wanted the best marriage for me, or at least, the highest one, and one to bring in gold. So of a sudden, I had to learn to be a _lady. _Meaning I was to sit inside all day.And my wing-friends weren't to come within ten paces, for fear of soiling my dress. 

"Now at the same time, there were a handful of bards about us. Not just the ones to pass the great folks' time of an idle evening, but real ones - the finest there were. _They _took a liking to me as well, 'specially with my voice. The master among them, old Talmon, wanted me to be a bard, to put in years of study and hours of practice each day, and spend my life among the tune-spinners. Now I always thought singing merry, and I'd be pleased to do it for _myself, _or to pass the time, but I'd little fancy to sit myself on a platform and sing to a crowd. Too, I wasn't set on throwing myself into study day and night, like all those fine-fingered bards did. Talmon couldn't seem to grasp that. He was forever after me to give up everything else and work with the masters. He had given me lessons for a while, and was more than ready to double the weight of them. He kept saying what a fortune I'd be to the bards' work. And I _was _good, I'll admit - but I couldn't see myself chanting strains all my life. 

"When I was fifteen, my father'd already found a match for me - as he saw it." Lark sneered. "A fat old lump - he could barely keep his seat on a horse - and the face of an ogre, but hanging off his skull like drapes of a curtain. But a noble, and well off, and that was all that mattered - I'd be a lady, and my family's have a share in the old man's gold. And don't doubt me that he hardly favored doing anything but laying about all day with servants running to his call. The fool had taken a fancy to me, and my father slapped down his seal within the week. Did my parents trouble their ears to hear _my_ thoughts on the way I'd spend the rest of my life? Hardly. It's for your own good, that's what they told me, and mother and father knew best, and a youngling like me had best listen to her elders. 

"So." Deep green eyes turned back to me. "What's a lass to do? Swamped over by fools, each who's certain they know what's best for her future, none caring to ask the girl in question what _she _might fancy." Lark propped her chin in one hand, gazing away thoughtfully again. "It didn't suit me - none of it. What with everyone shoving their wishes onto me, I'd scarcely space to breathe, and not a one of them gave a whit what I thought. So I decided - Hag take 'em all." A wry smile lifted on side of her mouth. 

"You - you ran away?" I ventured. 

She snapped her fingers cheerfully. "That's a fact. Took some money - my _own, _and not a copper out of _their _purses - and some clothes, and headed down here. I was pretty well set for the trade -" she grinned slyly - "and needed little besides." She turned towards me again, sweeping her hair away from her face. "So here I am -" she gestured widely to the city around us - "you may think it odd I'd choose the life, but I'll tell you - it's a sweet choice from my last one. I left behind everything I could - made sure to forget all I'd been taught, even the speech." She grinned. "Around here, you pick up the street tongue quick enough. And here there's no one to tell me how to dress or walk or talk, and surely not how to go about my life. I answer to no one. I go where I please. I pass the time with those I want to - not least of all -" she lifted a finch on her finger to eye level - "these lovely fellows." 

I digested this for a moment; the only sounds were the chirping of the birds around us and city noises slipping down the alley. 

"But - why _don't _you work with birds, then?" I wanted to know. "If you love them, you should - and they'd be more than happy about it, too. Too many of the People are mistreated by humans." My mother was forever campaigning to teach animal handlers and owners some sense concerning their charges. "It would probably pay better, as well; I'm sure you could work your way up to a high position in a school or guild."

Lark sighed; several birds found alternate perches as she crossed her arms thoughtfully. "Doubtless you're right, about the way folks treat the animals, and it's a cursed shame. But the fact of the matter is, I've my own code - and it's to work for none but myself. Now, if I'm in a school or guild, like you said, I've put a chain around my neck. Either, if I take money or favors from someone, I'm in debt, and fettered to them." She spoke with a gravity I hadn't seen before. "I'm my own woman, and that's that." 

This was a lot to take in. 

Lark's eyes crinkled at my obvious astonishment, then were serious once more. "Just goes to show, sweetling - a girl's _never _trapped into a future others decide, or stuck to what they tell her to do with herself. Never, you hear? You can _always _make choices for yourself."

I couldn't quite see this perspective. How many young women would see fit to run away from their families to live as prostitutes? Was that the freedom Lark was talking about? 

I tried to understand, tried to think of something to say in response. I failed at both. 

Lark smiled kindly. "Oh, that's all right, lass. Few know what to make of girls like me - though many _think _they do." She snorted. 

I looked inquisitively at her, waiting for elaboration. 

"Remember that hullabaloo in the Goddess's temple, last year?" she asked. 

"Um…" I frowned. "I think the Daughters were arguing over something - something about the court's policies. I didn't hear that much about it."

"Wasn't much to be heard. They kept it quiet." Her eyes danced. "I'll tell you, though - word gets around, you see. It was about a tavern lass, one like myself - I'd seen her about, in fact. Anyway, she had a problem with one of the pimps." Lark's voice was very dry. "He gave her a lot more than she'd bargained for, you could say. And he wasn't about to pay for the pleasure, either. So the girl went to the court of the Goddess - you know - they're the place to protect women in such matters. But the court wouldn't help her - or at least, _some _of the Daughters were perfectly willing to, and _some _of them turned her away - said they wouldn't serve such a low type, that she didn't deserve the help."

I stared.

"It's true," she told me wickedly. "Folks may think the priestesses know all there is to be known, that they're just bottomless sacks of justice and wisdom - but along comes a short-skirt, and they're thrown into mayhem." She sighed with exaggerated patience. "So many like that, a sad thing - so many claim they're fit to run others' lives, when they can't even balance their own." 

The Daughters' controversy was understandable. I was feeling the same complex myself. 

Suddenly I had a thought that made my hair stand on end. "Lark - have _you _ever been - have you ever had - has a man ever -" Yet again words failed me. 

She laid a comforting hand on my arm. "Don't you fret, my dear. Truth is, it's a lot scarcer among tavern girls than with the - respectable ones. It's our _choice_, mind, to take any one of them. Too, the rougher ones give fair warning, and ample pay. They know if we're not happy, they can expect little service to come."

I winced at the images this conjured. It hurt to think of the young woman in front of me being toyed with by some sadistic stranger. I had an urge - and then, I realized, an opportunity - to do something about it. 

I turned to Lark eagerly. "Would you like me to lay down a protective spell? It would be a simple matter - quick work, and I'm good at them - no man would ever be able to hurt you, believe me." My blood livened up at the prospect of using my work to help a girl in need. 

"No." She shook her head, smiling. "That's too sweet of you, and it sounds grand, but no, thanks all the same."

I was once more dumbstruck. 

"It's like I said, you see," Lark explained. "If I take help from someone, I owe them back -"

"You wouldn't owe me anything!" I protested, eager for the chance to help her, to make a difference.

"Mayhap not, but I'd've taken a favor, all the same. I can't go about like that. If I do it once, I might do it again, and again. It's a danger. I'm sorry," she added, seeing my disappointment. "It's good of you, truly." 

It was as though I had reached to touch her and she had thrust my hand away. The way she was looking at me now was as though from far, far away, and I felt an almost tangible barrier rise between us. We were from two different worlds, and would not, under everyday circumstances, cross paths again. There was nothing we might share to connect us. We had nothing in common… save the story she had just told me. 

I knew at that moment, with utmost certainty, that our conversation was over. There was nothing more to say. 

"Well," I said, conjuring a smile. "It was a pleasure talking to you, Lark." Frank, heartfelt exchanges had given way to etiquette. 

She smiled in return. "Likewise, m'dear." 

I stood and strode towards the mouth of the alley, into the city, where I could retrace my steps and find my way back home. 

I had nearly set foot on the street when her brook-clear voice reached me again in salutation. "Fair fortune, Shari." 

I turned back to look at her, a lovely, comfortable blue-cloaked figure seated on the crate. But I didn't say anything, and after a moment's pause left her behind to make my way through the winding Lower City roads. 

_Fair fortune, _Lark had told me. But what did that mean? What was "fair fortune" to her? She had chosen the life of a harlot; she thought it preferable, appropriate, commended such a lot in favor of so many women's inherent futures. It was unsettling to think what she wished me. 

It was a common greeting and benediction, exchanged widely throughout the Eastern Lands - but I couldn't help but feel her parting words had been more of a curse. 

~~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: thanks to Candice, as always. Tried to tame the language a bit. :)

Chapter Three

Some weeks later, I found myself in my room, lounging among carelessly strewn books and papers, chatting to my friends Meryl and Kerry by means of a wine-red ball of light on my left palm. Dark had fallen, and several hours' worth of study clamored for attention. But as usual, I had forsaken academic obligations in favor of social, at least until my conscience got the better of me and I settled down to work. I was keeping my voice low, lest my parents become suspicious and discipline me accordingly.

We were busy raking a clique of boys in our class over the coals when the communication spell in my hand disappeared. Simply vanished - snuffed out. I gasped with outrage - how dare some other mage think to disturb my working? Lunging to my feet to investigate, I came face to face with my father, leaning in the doorway with arms crossed. From the admonishing look on his face, the demise of my spell had been his administration.

"Shari," he said heavily, and guilt flushed my insides. My father didn't need to raise his voice to express disappointment in my conduct. Not that I could argue - I knew perfectly well that my study habits were less than virtuous, and it was fully my shortcoming.

Nevertheless, pride rose and I became defensive. Almost against my will, and certainly against my reason, I retorted that he and Ma didn't need to always tell me how to live my life, I was old enough to manage it myself, especially in such matters as academic organization and performance.

"Shari, we've been through this before," he continued patiently. "Success in magecraft will demand effort along the way, like any other trade. Yes, you're good at many areas, but you lack the discipline of study, which is necessary for progression in an academic institution such as the University - which is your path to a mage's title. You _must _work hard in your classes, as they dictate. The curriculum of the courses is not yours to choose."

We had been through it before, time and again. He was right, and I knew it. But it stung.

The words whipped out before passing my brain's inspection: "Who says I _have _to be a mage?"

It was ridiculous: this had been established very, very early in life. Even before, you might say: one of my powers had really only one path to pursue. I had never questioned it, never considered another trade.

My father raised his eyebrows. "And what else might you be, pray?"

Forest-green eyes and a heart-shaped face flashed across my mind. _A girl's _never _trapped into a future others decide…._

Suddenly overwhelming horror drove out any trace of annoyance or foolish defensiveness. What _would _I do, walk the streets - like her? What had I been doing? I risked failing at all I had ever worked for, all I had ever aspired to - I was squandering my abilities, my resources, every minute that I fiddled around instead of studying. Why wasn't I making more of myself, as I should be? How could I have been so careless, so _stupid?_

With infinitely more fervor than I had delivered the weakly backed assertion scant moments before, I babbled an apology to my father. Of course I wanted to be a mage, I'd never think of anything else, I should have been working harder in school and I would from now on, I'm sorry…. My throat was tight.

When he had left the room, I resolutely seated myself among my texts and assignments. Even as I prepared to take on the night's workload, taunting phantoms of thought whirled around my head. I tried to push them away.

Of _course _I want to be a mage. It's what I've always wanted. The beauty of it, the glory - what could be more rewarding, or more _right _for me? This is why my parents gave me so much all my life, supported me, helped me, taught me. Of course I want to be a mage.

But….

_You can _always_ make choices for yourself…._

What if I didn't?


End file.
